


Not To Be A-Bed After Midnight

by Crowgirl



Series: On the Strength of the Evidence [23]
Category: Grantchester (TV)
Genre: Domestic, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, unacknowledged relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 05:50:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9534416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crowgirl/pseuds/Crowgirl
Summary: The difference between two in the morning and six in the morning is a mere four hours if this business of the notebook is really so important it couldn’t wait until a marginally civilized hour.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kivrin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kivrin/gifts).



Sylvia Maguire wakes up with a start at the first knock. Before she’s even aware of thinking about it, she’s out of bed and fumbling for her dressing gown and stumbling into her slippers. Habits learned hard during the war will never die, it seems. At least now she can turn on a light.

The knocking continues, supplemented by the occasional ring at the doorbell, and she can hear the first sounds -- a loud groan, chiefly -- that mean one of the men has woken up on the floor below.

It’s a point of pride with her to get to the door first, regardless of the hour or the situation, so she goes down the back stairs rather than the front, nips through the darkened sitting room, and unbolts the front door just as she hears a door open on the second floor. ‘Mr Keating!’

‘Sorry, Mrs Maguire, I need--’ He makes to step into the front hall and she blocks his way into the house with an outstretched arm. He looks as though he’s dressed in a hurry in the dark, he’s hatless, and his cheeks pink with chill.

‘And what kind of time do you call this, Inspector!’ She catches his eye and holds it. If he thinks he can simply walk into the vicarage at any hour he pleases because he and the vicar happen to spend a deal of time together--

‘Geordie…?’ Sidney’s voice comes over the bannister, followed by footsteps down the stairs. ‘What on earth are you doing…’

‘Sidney!’ The Inspector moves as if to push past Sylvia, catches her eye, thinks better of it, and cranes over her shoulder. ‘That notebook -- the one you took this afternoon--’

‘What about it?’

‘I need it back.’

‘At two in the morning!’ Sylvia interjects and earns herself a glare she returns with interest. Geordie Keating is not about to outface her on her own doorstep no matter how close his friendship with the vicar might be.

Sidney stumbles down the last two steps, his robe tied but askew, his feet bare, and his hair a fluffy mess he’s vainly trying to smooth down. Sylvia purses her lips as she looks at him; a vicar should really be better prepared for midnight emergencies. Although she supposes it isn’t his fault she’s the lightest sleeper in the house; a heavy truck passing will wake her whereas she’s seen him sleep in the back garden through the noise of an airplane flying over.

‘Mrs Maguire, just -- Let him in, please -- it’s too cold to stand here with the door open.’ Sidney shakes his head and reaches out to touch her forearm. She sniffs to register her opinion of the matter and stands back, closing the door behind the Inspector.

‘The notebook, Sidney; I need it.’

‘At two in the morning?’ 

_‘Yes,_ at two in the morning!’ 

Geordie is almost shouting and Sidney clearly only barely awake so Sylvia interposes herself between the two men, her arms crossed firmly over her chest. ‘I suppose you have some reason for all of this, Inspector?’ She puts as much disbelief into her tone as she can summon up. The difference between two in the morning and six in the morning is a mere four hours if this business of the notebook is really so important it couldn’t wait until a _marginally_ civilized hour.

‘The -- that notebook --’ The Inspector is gesturing as if he can get his message across by semaphore and Sylvia can smell bitter coffee on his breath, stale smoke on his clothes, and the whole is underscored by a distinct tang of whiskey. 

‘Yes, Geordie, the notebook--’ Sidney reaches out and grasps his forearms firmly, pressing them back by his sides. ‘What about it?’

‘Is everything all right?’ Leonard leans over the bannister, the light of his bedroom streaming down the hall behind him. 

‘Yes, everything’s fine, Leonard. Go back to bed,’ Sidney calls back, glancing up. Leonard nods, mumbles something, and trails out of sight; Sylvia hears his bedroom door click and sniffs again. Some figure of a curate. Well -- she should remember to give him credit for the choir rehearsal running late the night before; he hadn’t gotten to leave the church until gone ten. 

‘Everything _won’t_ be fine if you don’t give me that damned notebook back!’

‘I’m not trying to keep it from you--’ Sidney protests.

‘The neighbors will think there’s some kind of crisis if we stand here with the lights burning and you two shouting the house down,’ Sylvia interrupts sharply. 

The Inspector bursts out again before either of them can speak. ‘It’s a code -- Sidney, it’s not some kind of language we couldn’t figure out -- it’s a code for times and places -- the -- the bastard’s been keeping _notes!_ If he figures out that you've-- that _we've_ got the damned thing--’

Sidney sighs, puts his hands on Geordie’s shoulders, and gives him a gentle push down the hall towards the study. ‘Mrs M...I don’t suppose you’d make us some coffee?’

She sniffs again, already mentally reviewing what she has on hand in the larder. ‘Bread and cheese at the very least. If that man’s eaten anything since breakfast yesterday, I’ll eat your surplice without salt.’

Sidney gives her a grateful smile. ‘Thank you.’ He glances down the hall; they can both hear Geordie muttering to himself and clattering around the study with an impatience, Sylvia is sure, born equally of whiskey and lack of sleep. ‘I promise I’ll try to keep the rest of the morning quiet so you can catch up on your sleep.’

‘No need, Mr Chambers,’ she says, readjusting the belt of her dressing gown. ‘I’m perfectly capable of dealing with the day.’

**Author's Note:**

> When Kivrin was beta'ing _[Holy, Cold, and Still](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9283655)_ for me, she put a note to this sentence to say she wanted the backstory: "He slams the door shut and turns to say a polite goodbye to find Amanda adjusting her hat and giving him the closest scrutiny he’s had to endure since the first time he turned up at the vicarage past midnight and woke Mrs Maguire."
> 
> This is the backstory. Title is from _[Twelfth Night](http://www.bartleby.com/70/2323.html)_.


End file.
